


no one knows (what your pretty little eyes have seen)

by lavenderlotion



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Post X-Men: First Class (2011), Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent, F/F, First Kiss, Flirting, Reunions, Sex Work, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22145626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: Angel doesn’t even have words for what Emma is. She’s comfortable in luxury, but it's a luxury she's had to take for herself out of the hands of men who see her for nothing more than her appearance.
Relationships: Azazel (X-Men)/Janos Quested, Emma Frost/Angel Salvadore
Comments: 16
Kudos: 15





	no one knows (what your pretty little eyes have seen)

Angel’s seen some shit. More shit than she ever would’ve wanted to see, that’s for fucking sure. She knows just how fucked up the world can be. Taking her clothes off for money isn’t even the worst of it, not really, and it’s why she jumps at the chance to go with Charles and Erik. She’s no stranger to taking what she can get outta men, and when she goes with them, that’s all she expects to happen. 

It’s nice, that first night in the CIA base. Her room there is better than her cheap as shit apartment that she shares with a few of the other girls from the club that haven’t fallen into drugs. The best part is the bed, real soft and real big. Even with the comforts, it gets real old pretty quick, being stared at like some sorta freak even with her fucking clothes on. At least when she was stripping, she  _ knew _ her place. She’s nothing but a show for those men, nothing but a cheap fantasy they pretend they can have. 

It isn’t the same here. These men look at her like she’s a freak. She’s used to being looked at like she’s lesser than, but this...it’s different. Cuts a different way. ‘Specially when they’re mostly white folk who jeer after her. It gets a bit better one Darwin shows up. He’s cool, knows a few words of Spanish which is real nice, but...that’s all he is. Nice. He acts like he doesn’t see the way the suits watch them and never seems to hear the shit they call after them. 

Angel knows that sometimes silence is the only way you survive, though, so she ain’t gonna call him out on it. When Alex shows up, it feels like the only person she can relate to gets taken away from her. She doesn’t like Raven, not with her big blue eyes and pretty blonde hair and the privilege she walks with. 

Hank’s worse. It’s funny that Alex seems to hate him too, and when their eyes meet, during one of the nights where he’s complaining about his feet, she knows he gets it, knows he’s seen his shit, too. And  _ fine, _ he’s real pretty for a white boy, it just sucks that he and Darwin are so wrapped up in each other that they don’t have any time for her and she’s stuck dealing with the other two all on her own, always busy trying to make nice. 

So it goes on. They don’t see Charles or Erik all that much but Angel knows the way they look at each other means something they don’t want no one to know. She also knows there’s no way in hell that’s gonna end well, but she keeps it all to herself, just like she keeps most everything all to herself even as the others start to grow closer. She’s been hurt enough that she don’t need to be hurt again, and she’s gotten real good at protecting herself. 

So, all in all, shit’s going well enough. She’s still not really sure if it’s better or worse than stripping, but it sure as hell is different if nothing else. But...that’s when things go to shit. When the happy bubble of peace they’d all been playing at gets popped. Angel doesn’t expect a war. She sure as  _ fuck _ doesn’t expect to be attacked only a couple of weeks in. But  _ Shaw, _ the monster hiding under the bed they’re all being gathered up to stop, marches into the room like he owns it after his lackey’s killed off the whole building. 

Angel knows what money looks like. Shaw  _ drips  _ with it, and so does the pretty boy beside him. It’s old money, that she can tell by the way Shaw carries himself. He knows his worth. Knows where he belongs. And it’s pretty fucking clear to them all that it’s  _ above _ the rest of them. 

When he says  _ and queens,  _ she can tell by the look on his face that he  _ knows _ he’s won. It makes her sick to her stomach to see it on a man like him, but....fuck, all Angel has  _ ever _ wanted is to be respected. It’s why she takes Shaw’s hand and steps out of the rec room, leaving behind a group of people that never could have been family for her. 

Watching Darwin die...well, he’s not the first brother she’s seen killed, and he sure as hell won’t be the last. She takes a deep breath and calms her racing heart, years of practice making it easy to slip on a pretty smile, and she takes Shaw’s hand once again. 

* * *

Shaw...certainly has money.  _ Old money, _ which Angel had pegged off the bat. She’s sure as hell glad she said yes since Shaw is also fucking  _ insane.  _ It’s...well, the first night is terrifying, knowing what type of power Shaw holds and knowing what type of sick, sick man he is. It’s clear from the way he talks and how he puts himself above everyone else. 

He really does see himself as a King.

But it’s what she expected, and she isn’t surprised when Shaw asks, “So, darling, I did something kind for you. What are you going to do for me?” Angel has a job. She’s had a job for a very long time, longer than she should’ve, and she does her job well. With Shaw, at least, she can focus on what  _ she’s _ getting out of it, and that helps.

Because it’s more than just a few dollars. During the nights he calls for her, she thinks about the leather clothing and fur coats and the piles of shoes that show up in her room without her ever having to lift a finger. She thinks of the lush bed she gets to go back to, the warm sheets she gets to wrap herself in every night. 

When that’s not enough, when he’s grunting above her and his sweat is sticking to her skin, she thinks of the sign language Janos is teaching her and how patient he is when her fingers won’t move right. She thinks of Azazel’s kind, deep voice and how carefully he can braid her hair, and how he understands Spanish well enough to talk with her as Janos mostly keeps up by reading their lips. She thinks of the secrets they both know and the ones they keep, the way their eyes track each other when Shaw isn’t around, and she thinks about the way they kissed, the one time they didn’t know she was there. 

And then Emma gets back. Emma, who is...Angel doesn’t even have words for what Emma is. She’s comfortable in luxury, but it's a luxury she's had to take for herself out of the hands of men who see her for nothing more than her appearance. Angel knows what that’s like, has lived that life for too many years already, and she sees it in Emma’s eyes the first night she’s back and Shaw calls for Angel. 

She hears it in her mind, a soft caress that feels nothing like the invasive press Charles had, when she says,  _ It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll handle him tonight. _

From then on, they form a...Angel isn’t sure she wants to put the word friendship on it, ‘cause she hasn’t ever really had a friend before, but Emma’s nice to her. She talks to her when there’s nothing for them to do, they hang out together when Shaw’s away and the boys go off together—not only is Angel sure Emma knows, she’s pretty sure Emma is helping them hide it—and the form a sort of...alliance is probably a better word for what they have.

The best is when they go shopping, though. Angel loves clothes. She’s a girl, so of course she does, but she knows the power that comes from looking good. Everything she owns fits her like a second skin, shows off the curves she was born with and the slim waist she works hard for. She makes herself look good because looking good is a power all on its own—and it’s one Emma understands. 

Like now, when Emma is sprawled across a chair in front of the change rooms, legs crossed in a way that has her white leather skirt pooling really low. Angel tries not to look, tries to keep her eyes to herself, but Emma’s skin is as pale as snow and it’s so hard to look away. Angel never thought she’d look at another girl and  _ want, _ but there’s something about Emma that pulls her in. 

_ That looks amazing, _ Emma says into her mind. Angel blushes, something she hasn’t done in  _ years, _ and gives a little twirl where she’s standing in front of her dressing room. It causes the skirt of the little black dress to flare out, but she doesn’t think about keeping it down, not when Emma’s the one watching her. 

Emma gives her a slow look, and if she were a man, she would say that Emma wants to devour her. But she isn’t a man, so there’s something else in her gaze, something that seems  _ safe, _ something that has Angel stepping closer, closer enough that her calf is brushing Emma’s. 

“You like it?” she asks from under her lashes, real good at playing innocent she when she wants to. Now, however, she  _ feels  _ shy and it’s...nice in a way. 

Nothing’s made her feel shy for a long while. 

“I think you look gorgeous, sweetie,” Emma tells her quietly, and a moment later she feels her in her mind, a soft,  _ careful _ caress that makes her cheeks even more. She doesn’t look away from Emma’s blue eyes, and she smiles slowly, lets her own eyes look over pale skin and white leather with a want she’s never felt before. 

It feels good. Watching Emma watch her, it feels good. 

* * *

She goes with Erik and Raven. She hates herself, a bit, for turning her back on Charles as he’s lying on the ground. But he’s a broken man, and she can’t get anywhere with him, and she despises herself for that, for her priorities that seem so skewed. So she goes with Erik, with Azazel and Janos who are the closest things she’s  _ ever _ had to brothers, closer than her own family had ever been. 

She goes with a family she found for herself, with men who don’t look at her and see what they can  _ take, _ who don’t see her for her body or for the things she can to  _ do _ to them. She goes with men who want her for  _ her, _ the first men who ever have, and she wraps her hand around Janos’ and tucks herself close to his side, pressing the sign they made for  _ familia  _ to his side before they disappear into smoke.

When they reappear, Angel has no idea where they are but it’s clear that Erik does. Angel’s always been sure that part of Azazel’s mutation is  _ some _ form of telepathy specifically based around locations since he seems just as confused as she is until Erik explains it’s a safe house. And it is, safe that it is, tucked away in the middle of nowhere. 

Sometimes, Angel goes out and flies the perimeter. Part of it is to make sure no one’s lurking around, but part of it is to practise. Erik is training them, pushing them and their powers and forcing them to be better. No one has  _ ever _ thought Angel could be more than what they see along her surface, and it’s...nice, every time Erik praises her flying or the accuracy of her venom. 

The thing about being with Erik though...he isn’t made of money. He’s  _ resourceful, _ in the same way the three of them are; hardened by a life that took and took and took and very seldom gave, rarer still for it to give something good. They get money, and it might not be honest, but none of the money Angel’s  _ ever _ known has been honest. 

And it goes like that for a few weeks. They get money, they train, they survive. But there’s something, someone, that Angel can’t let go. No matter how hard she tries not to, she dreams of Emma every night, of the soft touch of her in her mind and the way her eyes sparkled like diamonds no matter what form she was in. She dreams about her kindness, the way she had found Angel, once, crying, and had pulled her close and pet her hair. 

Angel had never fit that well against no one. She sure doesn’t fit with Raven, no longer blonde and blue-eyed but just as privileged. Having another girl around makes her miss Emma all the more, ‘cause no matter how she tries to see Raven, she never feels the same draw or the warmth in her belly. Never  _ wants _ her, not like she did Emma. 

So, she goes to Erik, ignoring the fear in her belly. She’s never asked a man for anything, used to taking what they’re willing to give, knowing trying for more is never worth the reprimand it might insight. But the thought of having Emma back with them gives her the courage she needs. 

“Erik, we need to go after Emma,” she says one night, her voice laced with the same venom that sits in her throat. He looks at her with eyes weighed by grief, and she knows what it looks like when a man has lost someone they love. 

She doesn’t know why he agrees, and she doesn’t ask. It’s better not to question anything when she’s getting what she wants. She goes with it, and gives him a pretty smile he doesn’t notice, and calls for Azazel. It’s easy to locate her with the work Azazel and Erik have been doing on Azazel’s secondary mutation. From what he’s told her, before Azazel had to see a place to get there, but he’s getting better and better at seeing a  _ person  _ and being able to find them. 

When they reappear, it’s in a base like the one she stayed in so many months ago. The grey walls make her skin crawl, and she’s just glad that it’s empty. From what she sees, she’s not too impressed. Emma probably could have gotten herself out, and Angel wonders if she knows that Shaw is dead or not. 

But then it doesn’t matter, because Erik’s breaking into the room and Emma is  _ right there.  _

“Ah, finally,” she tells them as she rises from the table, giving them a smile that’s meant to make each one of them feel like it’s just for them. Angel has one of those, too. “I was beginning to think I was going to have to break myself out of here.”

“Emma,” she breathes, unable to stop herself from stepping forward after Erik into the cell. She...well, she looks just as good as she always has, hair and makeup perfectly in place. But there’s a heaviness to her eyes that Angel wants to soothe, a tightness to her smile that means she’s on edge. Angel doesn’t know when she learned how to read stress along Emma’s face, but she can. 

_ Hello, sweetie, _ Emma greets, and Angel’s crossing the distance between them in long, sharp strides that echo through the empty room. 

When she gets to her, Emma’s jaw is soft under the tips of his fingers, and her hair is smooth under her hands, and her lips feel like  _ home _ when they finally kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> is my life falling apart? yes  
> come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/)!  
> comments and kudos are much appreciated!


End file.
